The Visa Diaries

Back in March, I went to a beautiful, fancy spa with my mother. It is hard to imagine that anybody anywhere could have stuffed more loveliness and good feeling into one week than the folks at the Rancho La Puerta. The weather was sunny and dry; the grounds were fragrant and beautiful; the fitness classes were fun and toning. The morning walks were magical; the people were friendly; the spa treatments were decadent. And to top it all off, the food was simply amazing – fresh and beautiful and delicious. At every meal I wanted to oggle the gorgeousness of the vegetables and marvel over the succulence of the fruits almost as much as I wanted to eat them. And when I did eat the food, not only was it delicious, but with every bite I could feel its vitaminy-goodness entering into my cells and its phyto-wonder sweeping out my toxins. But there was something even more: it was as if all the essence of the food’s simple, organic life – short but well-lived, grounded in the earth, reaching for the sky, kissed by the sun and stars – was entering my soul. I somehow felt more *moral* with every bite that I ate.

Yes, the week at the spa was divine. And then it drew to a close. I found myself in the San Diego airport, a little peckish. The options, as I looked around at the vinyl airport chairs and the gray utility carpet, seemed to be old tortilla chips with fake orange cheese, and the plastic baggied, slightly soggy sandwiches they now peddle at Starbucks. I felt sad. And the thought of returning to my life in New York made me sad too. Of course good fresh food and produce exists in New York, but it didn’t exist so very consistently in my life. I used to go to Whole Paycheck pretty regularly, but then I changed jobs and no longer work or live near one. I could go to the Farmers’ Market at Prospect Park on Saturdays, it is true, but I never seem to make it. The fast food options near my work tend more toward street meat than biodynamic. As I mentally surveyed the state of my food life in New York City, I could feel my cells shriveling, the energy depleting, and the chemicals pooling. My color fell and my skin sagged thinking about it.

Never one to resign myself without a fight, I looked into my options first thing when I arrived back on the Right Coast. Being the bobo place that it is, CSAs are quite popular in Brooklyn, and at first I thought this was the thing to do. I came close to signing up for one, but then I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to go pick it up during the 6-10pm window on Thursdays when it has to be fetched, and thus would waste my bounty. In the end I settled on Urban Organic. Unlike a CSA, they are not tied to one farm. They buy a selections of things that are in season (all organic) put ‘em in a box and – here is the key – deliver it to you. I was sold.

I get a box every two weeks. It is usually waiting outside my door when I get home from work on Mondays, filled with a friendly crew of things like chard, cabbage, tangellos, potatoes, etc. Some are more exotic than others, some I like more than others, but all of them provide that vital nutrient I was craving: the goodness for body and soul of well raised food.

A few months ago, a friend told me that if he heard the phrase “In this economy” one more time, he might explode. Little did we know, then, how many more times we’d get to hear it, and, frankly, how much more we’d care about hearing it. How we’d probably come to hang on the words of stories that began that way, and how we’d pray to move beyond it.

This is a story that begins “In this economy.” It’s a story about the joy that consumables can bring us, and the ability to find that joy for under $20. It’s a story about a showerhead that has changed my life, or at the very least, my mornings.

I live in San Francisco. I know I’ve mentioned that, but to me, San Francisco goes against the status quo. My default location tends to be the east coast, where life is both more coarse and more refined. Faster in the north where I tend to take quick trips to New York, slower in the south where I like to linger for weeks or months. Life on the east coast is not about a wholeness of the soul. Little time is spent talking about work/life balance, or balance of any sort, really. But life in San Francisco is somewhat obsessed with this. Companies compete to offer the most holistic view of life–which inevitably includes a LOT of work, but also a bit of a balancing act. At least, companies give the promise of this, and I’d argue it’s more prevalent in SF than back east.

And yet, people here still work too much. I work too much. I am constantly trying to balance my desire to press ahead in my career, working as hard as I can, with taking some time to relax and enjoy what’s around me. This has rarely been more startling than last night, when watching the Real Housewives of New York City. I only caught a few minutes of the episode, but as one couple departed Brooklyn for St. Barts, I realized I wouldn’t know what to do with myself if I ever took a vacation as an adult. In fact, I have never taken an actual vacation, if you consider a vacation a trip where you go to spend time away from work that doesn’t include a family reunion or visiting friends. My trips are always, always, always to visit family or friends. This idea of taking time away from work and spending money on myself is just not something I engage in. I hope one day I will.

In the meantime, and “in this economy,” I’m trying to find pleasure in the small things. My consumer victories are fewer and farther between, and they also are less costly. But they are there… in the happy hour glass of wine or the deal on Kiehl’s shampoo at Marshall’s or the use of a frequent flyer flight on JetBlue. One of these recent purchases has made a bigger impact than the fleeting high of getting a good deal, it actually has changed my attitude about luxuries in my own home.

Last fall sometime, my showerhead began to squeal. Not all the time, but LOUDLY and without avail when you changed one of the pressure settings. Then, in early winter, it began to squeal all the time. I was fearful my neighbors might one morning break down my door, demanding that I turn off the water and with it, that bloody high-pitched scream. So onto my Christmas list went a consumable: new showerhead. My only wishes were that it be the handheld kind, be silver, and have multiple water spouts. I also hoped it would cost less than $40.

My parents found one at Bed Bath and Beyond for $60, got the online price in-store at $50, and used a 20% coupon. This brought us down to somewhere around my price point. I got the gift on Christmas morning, but saw the $60 price tag and was appalled. Even when they told me they’d spent less, I decided to keep looking to find something less expensive. It’s a showerhead, for goodness sake, and in my mind, utilitarian items should be cheap.

I kept looking, and eventually found the identical showerhead at Marshall’s for only $19.99. I was thrilled. I lamented the economy, the fact that goods were selling for next-to-nothing in January, but I scooped it up, installed it in my apartment in SF, and anxiously awaited a new-and-improved, non-squealing shower. Little did I know I would come to love it.

My first shower was an adjustment. I had to find the right water setting out of all 12 promised by the manufacturer. I discovered that there were truly only 6 settings, and that each of those individual spray-types had a low-to-high pressure scale, yielding at least 6 additional sensations. And in this selection process, I found a setting I’ve never had on a shower before. It is a fine, delicate mist, but with enough spouts to give even, adequate pressure. It is great. To me, it feels like standing in a rain forest, surrounded by lush green foliage with specks of bright blue sky coming in through the leaves.

This entirely new feeling means that I now look forward to my showers. They are points of luxury, of relaxation, of indulgence in my day. As my own private rain forest inside my SF concrete jungle, they are the counterpoint to my stresses. What’s even better is that these showers have opened my eyes to other indulgences at home that I have been missing. Like making time to sit on my rooftop and look out over the San Francisco Bay, or to do yoga in the evenings in my living room.

My point in telling you all of this, in light of “this economy,” is that reclaiming the luxuries right under our noses can be rewarding in lean and lush times alike. And so in light of balance, I’d like to offer a gentle nudge toward seeking your own (small) indulgences. Toward giving your day a bright spot to counter all those stories that begin  “In this economy…”

BY CARTER

Today’s top story on nytimes.com was accompanied by the subhead “A pullback in spending raises the possibility that the country may be experiencing a rare decline in personal consumption.” And in my mind, this is a good thing.

For the last six months of my life, I have been trying to consume less. Moving all of my items across the country via Amtrak, and paying by the pound, made me evaluate all the stuff I have accumulated over the years and what is really essential in my life. Additionally, I decided when I moved to San Francisco that I would attempt to buy more used items and fewer brand new pieces. This hasn’t prevented me from taking a million trips to Ikea and Target (I chose to buy new silverware, dishes, and glasses, along with other items), but it has meant that every piece of furniture in my apartment (save one) is recycled in one way or another. I have chairs and small cabinets and curtain panels I found on the street, an antique mahogany dining table that I purchased from craigslist for a mere $80, a Le Corbusier chair I snatched for $120, and a quirky set of knicks and knacks that I’ve gathered at thrift stores and yard sales and giveaways. When I have bought new items, I have attempted to buy pieces that are somewhat natural (like all-wool rugs from Ikea) and new make-up from bare Escentuals.

I’ve attempted to go more natural with my make-up and personal care products… things like soap and body oils and lotions and lip balms that I needed to restock when I arrived in California. After reading up on most of my personal products on the Skin Deep database, I made the decision to pay a premium for higher-quality, more health- and earth-friendly products; this also meant that I relinquished my habit of buying lip glosses every few months that I didn’t need, lotions just because I like them, or shampoos just because they smell good. Instead, I now buy natural soaps that do not contain sulfates or artificial fragrances, and I’ve weened myself off Carmex in favor of cocoa butter (Carmex actually causes lips to chap and flake since it contains salicylic acid… in effect, Carmex can be addictive, not to mention its harmful rating on the Skin Deep database).

And one fact compounded all of these decisions: a few weeks ago, I heard on NPR that nothing in modern landfills biodegrades. Nothing. Food from the 1950s has been found in landfills, along with millions of other items that “ought” to biodegrade. Since modern landfills have no air circulation, and since biodegrading requires oxygen, there is no way for anything to decompose. Which essentially means that anything we throw away, we are leaving for our children to deal with. I had never realized this was the case.

Knowing this has made me even more acutely aware of my purchases: I really don’t need a new lipgloss if it means I’ll be throwing out an old one, which surely is not recyclable. And do I really need another planter for my apartment, or a plastic bird feeder? Is it possible to buy items that are 100% recyclable rather than things that will break easily and won’t be able to be fixed?

As I have lived here a bit longer, and now that I have accumulated most everything I need for my apartment (which, mind you, is filled with stuff — I’m certainly no saint), I have little to no desire to go shopping. I am trying to purchase items that can be reused for other needs (I bought heavy whipping cream yesterday in a charming miniature glass milk bottle that I’ll reuse as a vase).

Spending time in traffic or crowds searching for snazzy items that I simply do not need is not a way to spend my weekends. I’d now rather try to have fun instead of trying to get ahead by spending money. Of course, this doesn’t eliminate the fact that I still can’t recycle my toxic toothpaste-tube (I just can’t yet make the switch to natural toothpaste) and that I buy salad in a plastic box instead of a loose bunch stored in my reusable grocery bags. It’s a slow road to take: the one where you evaluate what your life is made of and decide if you want it to be made of things. It has taken me a long, long time to distance myself from my belongings. Only now am I attempting to see the effect my consumption has on everyone around me, and only now am I attempting to fill my life with things that have no tangible form.

To be honest, it has been entirely more fulfilling than a new tube of lip gloss. The high is more subdued, but also a million times prolonged.

I am about to start on my xmas shopping, so watch this space for bigger items soon, but first I wanted to quickly muse on the random beauty of the late-night Walgreens run. I am lucky enough to live right next to a 24-hour Walgreens, one of the only things that does stay open all night in this town. This past Wednesday, after my big critique, and after the multiple sleepless nights leading up to it, and a lot of pizza and beer to celebrate with classmates, I found myself hitting the WG with my friend Bethany on our way home.

Somehow through my stupor, a profound appreciation for Walgreen welled up in my heart. Where else can you get protein bars with your cold medicine, cheesy christmas decorations with your toilet paper with your blank CDs? I love the way Walgreens has *everything* from food to electronics, to cleaning supplies to office supplies to drugs. I love how it is all bathed on terrible fluorescent light, and is all terrible beige peg-board shelving and mottled white linoleum. I sort of even love that there is always a drug addict plaintively asking for change outside the door, and a couple of jaded bored salespeople inside, and how when the line gets really long they make an announcement telling you the cosmetics counter is open. I love how they give you cash back, any amount even if you only buy a $.99 pack of gum, and how they sell drug panaceas for all sorts on ailments that are unmentionable in good company – just about one of the only places where you can let it all hang out, be broken. I love their hideous script typeface logo, that they have decided to modernize by rendering in blue and red neon. I love Walgreens because it is so utilitarian (and not in that trendy Home Depot way) so practical, so bell-and-whistle free, yet they always have everything. I love walking out with orange zest kitchen cleaner in the same bag with my Edy’s Toll-House cookie dough ice cream and a new pair of Tweezerman tweezers, and that its next door and open all the time.

Sometimes convenience without pretension is so comforting.

I am a bit of a sucker for the bizarre, pseudo-medical, purported miracle cure. I’d say the afore-mentioned MBTs fit into that category. There also seem to be lots of lamps, doling out various sorts of beneficial light therapy in that category – I am the proud owner not only of a daylight lamp to lift my mood in winter, but also a special UV lamp to clear up my skin, and an infra-red lamp to help heal repetitive strain injury. Then there are the cures leave even the pseudo-science behind, and that fall into the woo-woo physics camp, like sacro-cranial massage, homeopathy, and acupuncture. I love them all! I have even been known to wear a “Tachyon energizing coil” that my friend Steph gave me to wear around my neck as a pendant, that was supposed to do something like reverse the spin on our core molecules…?? Maybe I’m making that up, but whatever it was, was equally unintelligible. Anyway, I happily wore it, and did feel better I swear, until I misplaced it.

Each time I learn about and embark on one of these new regimes, I feel a sense of uplift. Maybe *this* little malfunction, that the cure is now purporting to fix, has been the root of all my problems! Maybe, rather than being a complex cookie, the only thing the matter all along is that my spinal fluid is not in proper sync, or I’m not getting enough sunlight. I have this vision of simplicity, a cosmic key, that once it fits in its proper spot, all the stars re-align, and I live happily ever after.

My latest foray into this realm of wishful thinking through weird science is a set of anti-allergy covers for my mattress and pillows. These are supposed to form an effective barrier against dust mites, these gross microscopic little suckers.

Just seeing the pictures of these beasties is the best marketing ploy these companies could do – they are nastier than any alien or monster ever invented by Hollywood, and there are literally millions of them living in your mattress and pillows, feeding on your dead skin… Really, I’m not trying to scare you away form my blog – you can go barf now, I’ll still be here when you get back.

Don’t get me wrong – I believe that these mattress covers will do what the doctor and company say they will. Where I am straying into my wishful thinking territory is in going, “well maybe without those nighttime allergies, I will sleep much better, so I’ll only need, like 4 hours of sleep. And then I’ll wake up much more rested and be super-productive. Like, I bet I’ll get 4 times as much done as normal! And, like, maybe there’s some link between allergies and mood, and weight loss…”

So basically, I am expecting to be a whole new person when I wake in the morning tomorrow. Stay tuned. And next time I will talk about something pretty, I promise.

I know they are the ugliest shoes in the world.

I know that wearing them telegraphs to the world that I am trying to get rid of my cellulite… even though (I swear, I am not saying this because we are discussing my thighs on a blog) I don’t really have much cellulite.

I am referring, of course, to my MBTs. MBTs, of course, being the phenomenon that lit up ladies’ mags a year or two ago, as being THE CELLULITE CURE! (God, I am getting embarrassed talking about cellulite so publicly, as if just the mention of the stuff will make it spread its bubbly little curse over my butt. Or worse, will make everybody scrutinize my butt to see if that has happened… Anyway.) In case you had more sensible things to worry about and missed the fuss, MBT stands for Massai Barefoot Technology. The hype is that some German scientist, who looked like a throwback to WWII based on the video that accompanies the shoes, realized after years and years of study that (drumroll)… the pavement is the problem! People were not evolved for the hard, flat ground that on which we tread in our modern cemented and asphalted world, and it throws our alignment and skeletons out of whack. Hence, Massai Barefoot Technology to the rescue, which builds into the sole of shoe a mechanism to replicate walking on uneven ground, just like the Massai – who apparently have fantastic posture, and never get back problems.

And yes, you need a video to learn how to walk in them, the movement is so different from walking in regular shoes. So really, they were developed for people with back problems, the cellulite bit was just a happy accident having to do with better muscle use and increased circulation to “the region.” A happy accident, both for millions of women all over the world, and I’m sure, for the MBT marketing department.

So if I don’t have cellulite, then, what could possibly be the reason for wearing these monstrosities? I recently got my second pair, too, so it wasn’t just a quick fad. One honest answer is that they are just really comfortable. I know that is boring, but I haven’t had any problem with shin splints since I’ve been running in them. And, they make me stand taller, butt and abs pulled in – I swear I get checked out more when I am wearing them, I must stand with a more regal air. And, ok, let’s be honest, even though I don’t have cellulite now, none of us is immune to the bubble curse. I like the fact that MBTs are combatting it – an ounce of prevention, like taking my vitamins.

wheeeeeeee – this is fun! Thanks so much to Rob and Nick for your technical support, and to my very sweet friends for emailing and posting…

I must say, though, that there is so much to learn about being a blogger. Once one starts to consider the plethora of sites out there, conversations going on, and communities already formed, the thought of trying to become any type of ‘insider’ becomes somewhat panic-inducing. I was told today by my local blogxpert that in order for a blog to stay ‘in the rankings’ on Google and Technorati, it needs to be updated *3-4* times per day!! This guy manages 6 blogs and keeps up, like, 10 online identities! First of all, more power to him for manning all those personas without ending up on psychiatrist’s couch. Second of all, no wonder mySpace has gazillions of users, if each real person has 10 identities, not to mention all the marketers creating fake ones. And third of all, when on earth do these people fit in mani/pedis and bikini waxes amongst all the online time??? I want to have a fun blog that about life through shopping and shopping for a life, but I want to have a life too…

My complete feeling of overwhelm drove me to stop by my local healthfood store, Fresh & Wild, on the way home. I didn’t really need any specific product, but I really did need some of the wholesomeness that positively oozes from the walls in there. With the world so fast and wired outside, with blogs to find and talk to, not to mention all the the real work needing to get done, I just wanted to crawl into one of their lovely bulk food barrels – preferably the steel cut oats or organic brown rice – burrow in, and take a nap in all that fresh, natural, nutrient-rich goodness…